Bright and sunny day,warmth on my cheeks  

Clear blue sky. Dad drives down I-95

 and mom listens to backstreet boys as we stop

at the mobilmart rest stop for gas

As we enter the store,the different aisles of alcohol

Bottles green as emerald and cold as ice

My hands numb as I touch them

Unable to feel anything but the cold sensation

My dad grabs a 12 pack of green emerald bottles

I want to help

But my age restricts me

One small bottle,

Whisky? What is this?

I am outside, waiting by truck

Sweat pouring down every part of my face

Palms sweaty, is it the whisky bottle?

Or it just me?

I offer the bottle to my dad

I see the reaction on his face

Laughter fills my ears

As he says “so you’re a whisky thief now?”